He sat up so fast his head spun. He was shaking. His skin was covered in a cold, sticky sweat. His heart was racing so fast he thought it might burst through his chest.

He looked around.

The room was grey with the first light of morning. He was not on the bed. He was lying on the hard wooden floor. His hands were not tied; they were clenched into fists at his sides.

The bed was a few feet away. Camilla was lying in the center of it, wrapped in the thick wool blankets, her breathing steady and peaceful. She was fast asleep, her back turned to him.

Damon sat on the floor, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. He touched his neck, then his chest. There were no marks. There were no silk ribbons.

It was all a dream.

He sat there in the silence of the morning, his face buried in his hands. He felt a deep, burning shame. He, the General, had just had a dream so vivid and so scandalous about the woman wanted to keep at arm’s length.

"God," he whispered into his palms. "What is wrong with me?"

He looked at the bed again. Camilla shifted in her sleep, let out a soft sigh, and stayed quiet. Damon didn’t move. He stayed on the cold floor, waiting for his heart to slow down, too afraid to close his eyes again.

~ ••••• ~

The sun began to rise higher, casting long, pale yellow streaks across the floor. Damon finally stood up. His body felt stiff and heavy. He felt as if he hadn’t slept at all.

He looked at the bed one last time. Camilla was still asleep, looking innocent and soft under the blankets. He remembered the woman from his dream—the predator, the siren. He shook his head, trying to clear the images.

He walked to the washroom. He splashed freezing cold water on his face. He stared at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked exhausted.

"It was just a dream," he told himself. "A trick of the mind because she was in the room."

But deep down, he knew his thoughts were becoming dangerous. He had heard her thoughts, her insults, her mockery. And his subconscious had answered with a fantasy that shook him to his core.

He walked back into the bedroom. He needed to leave. He needed to go to the training grounds, where things were simple and no one to ruin his mind.

He began to dress quietly. He pulled on his trousers and buckled his belt. He reached for his shirt, his movements quick and sharp.

On the bed, Camilla stirred. She rolled over onto her back. She let out a long, lazy yawn and stretched her arms over her head. Her eyes slowly blinked open.

She saw Damon standing near the wardrobe. She saw his messy hair and his tired face.

Camilla sat up, the blankets falling to her waist. She rubbed her eyes and looked at him.

"Good morning, My Lord," she said, her voice sounding scratchy and sweet from sleep. "Did you enjoy your bed on the floor? You look like you didn’t sleep a wink."

Damon froze. He didn’t look at her. He couldn’t. All he could see was the woman from his dream crawling toward him.

"I slept fine," Damon lied, his voice sounding harsh.

Camilla hopped out of the bed. She walked toward him, her white silk nightgown swirling around her ankles. She stopped a few feet away and peered at his face.

"You’re lying," she teased, tilting her head. "You look terrible. Were you thinking about me all night? Did you miss being in the bed?"

Inside her head, her thoughts were laughing. Look at him. He looks like he saw a ghost. Or maybe he’s just grumpy because the floor was too hard for his big muscles. Poor boy.

Damon clenched his jaw. He grabbed his boots and sat on the single chair to pull them on.

"I have work to do," Damon said, focusing on his laces. "Kade will be here soon. Make sure you are dressed properly before the staff enters."

Camilla scoffed. She walked to the window and looked out at the garden. "You are always so serious. It’s a beautiful morning. You should try smiling. It won’t kill you."

Damon finished his boots and stood up. He grabbed his dark blue jacket.

"I will be in the study," he said. "Do not disturb me."

He walked toward the door. As he passed her, he felt the heat of her presence. He remembered the sensation of her hands on his chest from the dream. He walked faster, his boots thumping loudly on the wood.

He pushed the door open and stepped into the hallway. He didn’t look back. He needed to find Kade. He needed to find something to indulge himself in. Anything was better than the quiet, dangerous air of that bedroom.

Camilla watched the door close. She turned back to the room and saw the pillow Damon had used on the floor.

"He really is a strange man," she whispered to herself.

She walked over and picked up the pillow. She threw it back onto the bed. Then she saw the spot on the floor where he had been lying.

"Stubborn," she muttered.

Downstairs in the study, Damon sat at his desk. He had a stack of reports in front of him, but the words were blurring together.

He kept seeing her eyes. He kept hearing her voice. Look at me, Damon.

He slammed his fist onto the desk.

Bang.

"Get it together, Damon" he hissed to himself.

There was a knock on the door. Kade entered.

"My Lord, the horses are ready," Kade said. He paused, looking at Damon’s face. "Is everything alright? You look... unwell."

Damon stood up quickly. "I am fine. Let’s go. We are staying at the camp for three days. I want the training schedules doubled."

Kade blinked. "Double, My Lord? But...."

"No buts," Damon said, grabbing his cloak. "Move out."